Thursday, 26 March 2009


The thick lens curves concave
It’s the dull blade that vents
Letting our your fears through slits that bleed light
It’s the murmur in the dark on the ceiling above
A chord struck for maximum effect

Its in the invisible clouds
It’s in your stringy saliva
It’s the living, breathing epitome of waste
A life misplaced
All things either corrupt or chaste
Nothing grey
Divisions render this world liveable
Put it in a box and walk away

Brew the bitter drug
And Walk Away

But those vents grow to tears
That rip the fabric of our veils
And open up this space again
You hear that murmur in a new light
As the birth cry of a fresh spectrum
And all is blinding
For one second.
( Breathe In)
Bitterness ferments and exhales the sweet scent of life
Into the field of daydreams
Sunspots on my vision flick beauty across the lens
It cracks and we’re real
Exposed and walking in toward

Sunday, 8 March 2009

Where’s my right mind?
Right intention
Right angles triangulating to create the space where the thought was born
Filthy and Wretched
Gasping and Crying
Clasping the air for a wisp of life
Scrubbed down, weighed, raised and taught to hate
Taught to behave like the rest of us

And the city eats people like candy floss
At the side of the road where the traffic meets
And the light falls hard on my bed tonight
As the evening envelops our bodies and hearts

Time to stop seeking refuge in material, thinking out loud for the world to hear
I wish I could be through skin and words
Translucent and empty
To be filled by you
Close to the bone but not holding firm
Moving with the spirit not the letter
Because we never laid down those laws.

And the city kills people, clear as day
In the jagged cracks where they fall in between
And the trains run late straight through my soul
Screeching to a halt where lovers part.

Monday, 2 March 2009


Principle deviation reciprocates anger
Slowly grasping that, without learning, One is dead
What IS your ideal?
And what WOULD you settle for?

Stars of David & Broken Chains beat a dull tattoo,
Red Globes rotating, hanging godess on black cotton loop
Holding interactions at bay

Greasy, heavy headed shallow sleeping underprepared
And now I'm present
Sunk depressions
Into Brown private space they stare
Passive agressive negative accession in the tower
By the spiral stair.